The Great Other
by iheartcrossovers
Summary: All is dead, and all is gone. He can only watch as everything he knew falls around him. All because of the Great Other. Oneshot.


Another boat exploded as Tyrion Lannister bellowed words of encouragement to the oarsmen. His heart sank as he watched the destroyed boat sink into the depths.

_That ship held the Tyrells… at least they cannot get to their bodies._

The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was dead. The Warden of the South was dead. The Knight of Flowers, the Queen of Thorns, all dead. All he could hope was that they were out of range. Smoke filled the air as he looked back upon their attacker. Qyburn, or what was supposed to be Qyburn stood on the walls of the Red Keep, arms raised in the air. The ex-maester was a horror to behold, nothing but bones and clothes with an unearthly blue light emanating from where his innards were supposed to be. The ship farthest from the group and closest to the shore exploded into ice and mist. How was this happening? Where had it all gone so wrong?

Varys whispered dire tales to the counsel all those months ago. That from the few sources he had far north, something evil was stirring. Something that had not been seen since the Long Night. As the weeks went on, his whispers became more urgent until one day, he disappeared, leaving only a note of warning. Cersei would not retreat; she would have her power and her boy as king. Then they came, from behind the Wall which they shattered into a pile of ice. The Others. At their head, the one who called himself the First Death Knight.

At first it was only the Others and wildlings. As they went south, they brought those they vanquished into their fold. The wights were normal, but it seemed that some were raised higher, infused with more power. They were the leaders of the wights, and their names became infamous as they brought winter to the North, past the Neck, and into the South. Tyrion could make them out on the walls, watching the ships retreat with the few that survived. There was Theon Greyjoy, the Reek, covered in filth with mad blue eyes. He had claimed many lives with his monstrous plagues, unearthly creations, and unmatched ferocity. Blood dripped from the mouth of his wolf head as what remained of Robb Stark, the King of the North and Young Wolf, stood beside him. He cursed his opponents in a guttural feral voice as he tore into his opponents with his fangs. He was said to be in constant unbearable pain due to the Red Wedding, and Tyrion could hear him howling from his ship. Together, the two were the plaguemaster and beastmaster. By all accounts they should be at each others throats, but death had unified them once more.

His own sister, Cersei wailed on the ramparts as she watched the ships sail away, and her son with them. None of the beauty of her previous life was present, her skin was grey and wrinkled, hair disheveled and white, and her eyes burned blue as her wails penetrated into the core of Tyrion's being. She was recently reanimated, and still confused. But now, even death would be a mercy to her. The Knight of Bones, grim Ned Stark stood beside her, proving that the dead did not need to be fresh. His great sword Ice he could now wield effortlessly in a single hand, all honor in its swing now gone.

Others he had seen when they attacked, some enemies, some allies, but all dead, all rotten. Many Northern Lords were raised as more intelligent wights, and led the attack, Roose Bolton at the head. His father Tywin, now more bones then flesh, stood on a magnificent dead horse, commanding from the rear. The monstrous undead Ser Gregor Clegane, once Ser Robert Strong, attacked from within the castle, killing all in his path. So many dead, and as more died, the more their numbers grew.

Westeros was lost. The North, given to The First Death Knight, was now said to be a barren wasteland where wights freely wandered, slaughtering the few who hid. The corrupted Riverlands, conquered by Theon Greyjoy, were a land of dead trees and poison water. The Westerlands given to Robb Stark, was a stone labyrinth of all manner of horrifying beasts and creatures. The Vale, given to the White Mother, Lysa Arryn, a bloated dark creature with her son's mouth fused to her breasts, was a land where live monstrosities that served the Others bred and grew. King's Landing was now a smoldering ruin, and the Reach and Dorne would join them. The Reach had been abandoned, the dead now marching into it, but Dorne refused to leave, foolishly believing their deserts and tactics could ward off the white walkers.

_ They will only die and add to his horde_. Tyrion thought bitterly as Qyburn's attacks ceased. _What can stop this? They will not stop here; soon the entire world will be winter_.

As the ships sailed out of reach of the dead, the earth began to shake and the waters churn. Tyrion heard a crack as the Red keep began to shatter and fall. As the roofs caved in and the walls fall, a massive claw slammed onto the battlements, squashing dead and the few alive who were fighting. Tyrion could only watch in horror as a massive bone dragon filled with cold blue fire climbed to the highest tower of the Red Keep. It was a monstrosity, with bones fusing together in unnatural ways where they shouldn't be. Standing on its head, stood the First Death Knight, Jon Snow, staring at the ships with his glowing blue eyes. He raised his accursed sword, etched with foreign ruins that glowed with power, and a victorious howl came from the legions of dead in the city. Snowflakes began to fall as Tyrion and the survivors sailed into the distance and the dragon roared into the night sky.


End file.
